He Works In Mysterious Ways
by totallystellar
Summary: Cute oneshot. Dialogue heavy. Seven year old Richie meets someone who he'll know later in life… and underneath strained family small talk they make an childish promise. R&R please.


**Title:** He Works In Mysterious Ways

**Rating:** PG or K+

**Genre:** General

**Summary:** Cute one-shot. Dialogue-heavy. Seven year old Richie meets someone who he'll know later in life… and underneath strained family small talk they make an childish promise.

**Spoilers:** The entire series.

**Author's Notes:** This fic can be viewed as caustic toward religion… but not quite, so don't worry. I was trying to go for a sort of hopeful vibe under all the rough family stuff... Um. Anyway, implied Madelyn/Richie if you try, but I know most of you don't like that pairing, so it's easy to ignore. This was just a quick one-shot inspired by some of **EsscenceofDreamz**'s artwork. Please enjoy and review.

**He Works In Mysterious Ways**

"Richie, stop fidgeting," Maggie Foley scolded in a hushed voice. Seven-year-old Richie Foley looked up from his seat on the uncomfortable wooden pew at his mother. She smiled encouragingly and looked back up at the priest, a round, elderly man with a rumbling voice.

Richie, small, skinny, and blindingly blonde, was settled between his parents Dakota's only Catholic church, a small cathedral with tall stained glass windows that sat beside a relatively modest Methodist chapel. Due to city budgets (or according to Richie's father, the Democrats) the two organizations shared a large parking lot, which separated the two. ("Damn Protestants," his father would gripe angrily every Sunday. "Can't drive fast for a self respecting man and his family, can you? Just cause a nice, long traffic jam and make us late for freaking church.")

Sean Foley was a coarse man with broad shoulders, a cocky attitude, and a devout Irish Catholic background. He was determined to have his only son carry on the Foley line as not only respectable, but also religiously devoted.

Richie, however, was not devoted to the service. He found the entire kneeling, sitting, standing, reciting, and singing ritual to be awkward and boring, and due to constant exposure and his father practically beating him over the head with a bible, he'd had quite enough even at the tender age seven. His sole reason for coming to church was to please his timid mother, who wasmore reserved about her faith but even more solid in it than his father.

Having to endure an hour and half or so of drone that washed right over him made Richie restless and fidgety. His father had smacked his arm on more than one occasion today, sending him murderous looks that probably had no coherence with that Sunday's theme of patience and love.

Richie pushed his glasses up his nose and cast inconspicuous looks down the rows of pews, noting the assortment of churchgoers. All in all it was such a mismatched group that Richie considered it odd that they all be connected by religion. But at seven years old, Richie wasn't one to wax philosophical.

All he cared about was getting out of there.

And it was forty minutes later and he followed his mother and father outside into the fresh air. He hopped down the steps and took a deep breath, stretching in a way that was a bit too dramatic and reveling in his newfound freedom. He followed his parents to the parking lot just as the Methodist service ended in a mass of worshippers spilling into the shared parking lot.

"Oh no, Maggie," His father said as they neared their car. "The Matthews are parked right next to us."

"Oh, don't be rude, Sean," Maggie admonished. "They're perfectly nice."

"Right," Sean muttered skeptically, but couldn't say more because they were within hearing range now

The Matthews family consisted of a very tall man with a mop of brown hair, a short, curvy woman who was some odd collection of races that formed a dark, exotic skin tone, and their small daughter, Madelyn.

"Maggie!" The woman called pleasantly, and the redhead smiled back as the Foley family stopped in front of their car, right next to the Matthews'.

"How are you, Donna?" Maggie said sincerely.

"Oh, fine," Donna sighed, tossing her black hair off her shoulder. She leaned forward and whispered loudly, "This is the last outing me and my daughter are _gone_."

"Mr. Matthews. Mrs. Mathews," Sean greeted, gruff as always. He reached forward and shook Mr. Mathews' hand vigorously. Mr. Matthews seemed like a pushover compared to his father. Richie watched with interest.

"Please, Sean," Mr. Matthews said. "Call me Christopher."

"Christopher," Sean said.

"So, where's Madelyn this fine morning?" Maggie said, trying to dispel the tension. She looked around, and a dark little head peaked out from behind Donna's legs. Richie stared. He hadn't known she was there; but she was gone just as quick.

"Aww, come out, Madelyn," Maggie said soothingly, crouching down. Donna sidestepped and revealed a small little girl, a few inches shorter than Richie but about his age. She was dressed in lavender from head to toe, with a barrette or two holding back wispy black bangs. She seemed to shrink under the scrutiny of two adults (Sean and Christopher were making awkward small talk about garden tools at Home Depot), and her eyes widened when she saw Richie.

"Mommy's going to talk to Mrs. Foley right now, Madelyn," Donna said, giving her daughter a little push. "Play with Richie for a moment."

"It's okay," Richie volunteered. "I'm Richie."

Madelyn gave a shy smile.

"I'm Madelyn," She whispered. "My favorite color is purple."

"I can see that," Richie said agreeably. "You look nice."

Madelyn blushed. "Thanks, Richie."

* * *

"This is the last outing we're obligated to endure," Donna was saying. "Then the divorce is final." 

Christopher didn't look happy.

"The Foleys don't believe in divorce," Sean said stiffly. "It's blasphemous."

"Yes, well," Donna said dryly. "I'll risk my ticket to Heaven if my marriage already feels like Hell."

* * *

"You look really professional," Richie continued to Madelyn. 

"Professional?" Madelyn said, looking down at her a-line skirt. She was wearing a crisp white blouse underneath a girly purple coat with large pearly buttons, and her outfit was competed with clean white stockings and shiny black dress shoes. She tapped them together.

"Yeah!" Richie said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You look like… like one of those politicians on TV my dad watches. Maybe you could be one of them."

"You really think so?" She asked a little more confidently.

"Sure," Richie said with a shrug.

"Wow," She said in awe. She looked at him. "Will you help me?"

"Not if I want to run against you or something," Richie admitted honestly.

"That's pretty fair," Madelyn acknowledged, sounding like a diplomat already.

* * *

"Are you sure you want a divorce?" Richie's mother asked Madelyn's with concern. "You can work things out, you know." 

"Nah," Donna said dismissively. "And don't you worry about me one bit, Maggie. I'm getting back my maiden name, too."

"Oh," Maggie said.

"What was that?" Sean asked.

"_Spaulding_," Christopher said bitterly.

* * *

"I don't know what I want to be yet," Richie was telling Madelyn, both of them oblivious to their parents' conversations. "But I was thinking maybe I could be Superman." 

"You can't be Superman, silly," Madelyn said.

"Why not?" Richie demanded, very defensive.

"Because that's already taken. And you have a lot of superhero potential yourself," She said matter-of-factly. "You just have to find it."

Then she leaned closer and whispered, "But if you protect me I promise as President I'll pass a law that says Richie is a superhero."

"Cool," Richie grinned, revealing a crooked front tooth that would later be repaired with braces.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we can spare this morning," Richie's father boomed, already in the driver's seat.

"I'll be seeing you later, Donna?" Maggie asked politely as she opened the passenger door.

"Maybe," Donna told her. She looked bored and seemed to have forgotten where Madelyn was.

"Get in the car, Richie," his father barked. Madelyn ran forward and pressed something into Richie's hand. She grinned, and waved, scampering back to her own car.

Almost simultaneously, the Matthews car and the Foley car came to life, and in each backseat there was a precocious seven-year-old. Richie pressed his palm to the cool glass and Madelyn mimicked him from the barrier of glass and car and space. The glass on the Matthews' car was dirty but he could somehow see every detail of her face, down to the loose black bangs that fluttered over her eyes.

"_President_," He mouthed.

"_Superhero_," She mouthed back.

"Thank God we'll never seem _them_ again," Sean Foley growled under his breath.

Richie turned the barrette over in his hand.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Please review! 


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